by Elise Kova
We’re not speaking with words, or thoughts, or even gestures, really. There’s direction in the music that we hear. Little signposts along the way that say, if I play this, you play that. And, together, we make music all our own, made for this moment and that will never be heard again.
We turn emotion into song.
Sweat drips down my neck as the tune shifts. The fiddler breaks away from the rest of us, rising to a crescendo, demanding all attention. The rest of us fade until she comes crashing back down in a new melody.
I recognize this, I realize.
“There once was a lass with hair so fine,
I saw her dance and said she’s divine.
So I took her down to the mer folk sea,
And said Jilly will you marry me?”
The whole tavern gives a whoop in time. Everyone unites in song for the chorus.
“Soon there will be a wedding,
A vow an’ a kiss an’ a proper bedding.
Soon may the Jilly-lass come,
Down by the mer folk sea.”
My hands fly across the lute. There are only short breaks between the chorus and verse. Barely a few notes. I always loved this song for that reason. It was a challenge to play and even harder to sing.
“Now Jilly and I are a family of three,
We live on down by the mer folk sea.
Jilly went to the shore one day,
And looked the mer folk’s way.”
Another whoop before the second chorus.
“Oh no, sweet Jilly girl,
You’ve gone t’far where the sea ocean whorls,
Jilly was taken away,
For her wishes sh’ll have t’pay.”
My hands fly across the strings. I’ve come as far into the song as I know. I glance over to the drummer. He looks my way. The other man and woman do as well. Expectant.
My fingers seize and halt.
That voice…the person who led the singing… Sick, hot, horror crashes over me. It was me. I was the one singing. I wish I could go and curl in a corner and die faster than the song is.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a deep, masculine voice fills the room with song.
“But Jilly will be coming back,
I’ll go out when the ocean’s black.
I’ll break’er bond wit’ the cold, dark sea.
Because the best mer folk is me.”
As the tavern whoops a final time, I look to the source of the voice. My fingers continue to play on instinct now that I’m no longer wallowing in the horror of what I’ve done.
I lock eyes with Davien. He’s singing with the rest of them, leading the tavern toward the end of the song.
“Soon there’s a beach of three.
Jilly girl, child, and me.
Soon we’ll be happy again.
And we’ll live to a hundred an’ ten.”
The musicians continue to play as I duck away from the band and back to the side, returning the lute to where I found it. My face is flushed and I can feel it only get redder as I step off the stage to a small amount of applause. I try and duck my head with shame…but the encouraging smiles people give me, the pats on the shoulders…by the time I reach Davien, I’ve a smile of my own.
“You look horribly smug.” He sounds upset, but his face hasn’t received the note, because he wears a grin that seems almost impressed.
“I don’t know if smug is the right word.” I look back toward the stage, where the band is still playing and people are still dancing and twirling. I only just finished performing, and already want to go back. “I’ve never done anything like that before, and I’m surprised by how good it felt,” I admit to both myself and him.
Davien seems startled by this admission because he promptly changes the topic. “You really shouldn’t be wandering by yourself alone.”
“I thought it was safe in Dreamsong?”
“It is.”
“And Vena told me to go and enjoy the town. That’s what I did.” I shrug. “Besides, I wasn’t completely alone. Had the best guide in all of Dreamsong.”
“About that…” Davien’s voice gets heavier with frustration and he looks over to the table Raph and I have been standing at. Hol is there now. He stands next to a woman with long black hair and curving ram’s horns. The two are giving a proper scolding to Raph.
“Hey—” I push past Davien. “Don’t be mean to him, he was only helping me. I asked him to.”
Hol gives me a very, very tired look. Even though they couldn’t have been talking with Raph for more than a few minutes, he looks as if he’s had this conversation for hours. “There’s a difference between ‘being mean’ and necessary discipline.”
I shudder. He sounds just like Joyce.
“Do you know what you could’ve done?” the woman snaps at Raph.
“I wasn’t gonna harm her!” Raph insists. “I just wanted to see how long she could dance for.”
The woman grabs him by the ear and tugs on it lightly, hissing into it, “She’s human. She breaks far easier than we do.”
“I agreed to his terms willingly,” I say. I can’t stand to see Raph treated this way because of me. I wonder what they’ll do to him. I can only imagine fae punishments will be even worse than Joyce’s. “I don’t mind one dance.”
A heavy hand falls on my shoulder. I look up to see Davien. “You need to be more careful about the deals you make here,” he says solemnly. “You agreed to a dance without setting any terms, any limitations. Raph could’ve made you dance until you died from exhaustion. He could’ve made you dance into a river.”
“But…” My voice quivers slightly. Just when I thought I was safe. “He said he wouldn’t hurt me.”
“He wouldn’t have intentionally. But Felda is right, he didn’t think through how it might impact you. He’s young and foolish.”
“Now,” Hol says firmly. “You will absolve her of all deals she’s made with you.”
“Do I have to?” Raph whines.
“Yes, now.”
Raph looks to me. He kicks dirt off the wall he’s still standing on. Hands behind his back, looking guilty, he says, “Your debts are paid, all has been gained, nothing is owed, we stand as equals.”
They sound like magic words, so I expect to feel tingling across my body, but I don’t. I feel as normal as I did when I made the deal with him. But if what Davien said was true, I unknowingly gave this little boy immense power over me.
“And apologize to her,” the woman, Felda, says.
“Sorry,” he obliges, barely managing to look me in the eye.
“All is well,” I say. “And thank you for releasing me from my debts.”
“I really wasn’t going to hurt you,” Raph insists under his breath.
“That’s enough of you for one day.” Hol picks up the lad and sets him down on the ground. “I believe you still have business with Vena. You should get to it and not keep her waiting. It’s because of her we have a roof over our heads at all. So take your duties to contribute to Dreamsong more seriously.”
“Right, right.”
“We’ll see you at home later,” Felda says, her voice softening some. She reaches for Raph. In my mind’s eye, she grips the boy with both hands to further shake and scold him. But instead she pulls him to her for a tight hug. “We love you, Raphy.”
“Eww, Mom, there’s people, ugh, love you too,” Raph mumbles and scampers off. But not before his mother lands a kiss on his forehead.
“We really are so sorry for his actions.” Felda straightens and scratches the back of her head, looking guilty on her son’s behalf. “He can be a handful at times.”
“I’m not upset,” I remind them. I’m still confused as to what I just witnessed. In an instant, she showed him more affection than even Joyce showed her own flesh and blood daughters.
“Still, as an apology for our son, we would like to offer you a seat at our table and extend every measure of hospitality to you both,” Hol says.
“It would
be our honor to dine with you.” Felda bows her head toward Davien.
“As it would be ours. Lead on.” Davien motions for the door and the couple leads the way to my first meal with the fae.
Chapter 16
Davien follows behind them, pausing when he notices that I’m not in step with him. “Are you coming?”
I fold my arms and walk up to him. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t speak for me.”
“Would you have refused them?”
“I don’t know.” These fae have done very little to endear me to them. I’m not sure if I want to be sitting at their table and breaking bread.
He chuckles and shakes his head. Under his breath I can hear him say, “You really are human.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” We start walking.
“You would not only pass up an opportunity for Hol and Felda to be allies by sitting at their table, but offend them as they tried to make amends.” Davien laughs. “You don’t understand anything about how words can be twisted against you. About deals, rituals, or the laws of hospitality.”
“Don’t mock me.” I glare up at him. Yet, as if he’s ever in a competition with himself to see how much he can frustrate me, he smirks. His green eyes sparkle in the sunlight.
“I’m not mocking you; I think it’s charming that you’ve lived a far simpler life.”
“I doubt it. But even if you’re right, simpler doesn’t mean good.” I avoid staring at him, instead looking at the joining on a roof.
“How did you know that song?” he asks, seemingly out of nowhere. I wonder if he can tell I’m uncomfortable and is trying to backtrack to something more harmless.
I glance back up at him. Can he tell I’m uncomfortable?
“Wait, don’t tell me, it’s yet another one of the old songs you’ve heard around town?”
“Yes,” I lie, and swallow to try to remove the taste of metal from my mouth. It seems like the more I lie around him, the harder it becomes, and the longer that metallic taste lingers at the back of my throat. My mother was the one who taught me almost all the songs I know.
“It really is incredible how much of us is left in that world…” He trails off, eyes filled with longing as he stares ahead. Davien is a good head taller than most people, so he can see down the entire street without issue. But I don’t think he’s looking at anything in particular. I wonder what he’s trying to see, what place…or time.
“It really used to all be one world? I heard the old myths, about the ancient magic wars. I remember what they told me about the Elf King carving up the land. But I thought…” I look around me. “I guess I have to believe it’s true, seeing this place, seeing you.” My gaze snags on intricate leaded glass that adorns the second floor of a building we pass. “Glass art, did it come from the fae as well?”
“It did.” Davien smiles. “The fae are an offshoot from the dryads. They were the old sentinels of the forest, long before the magic wars were even a whisper on people’s lips. Unlike the fae—which were a natural evolution of time and magic—the dryads made the humans with their own hands. Initially, the fae looked after the early humans, teaching them how to use their magic to work with nature.”
“Humans had magic?” I try to imagine such a world and fail.
“Long ago, before the Fade. Perhaps that’s why you are able to be a vessel for the ancient kings’ magic.”
I curl and relax my fingers, trying to see if I can feel the magic that even Vena said she could sense in me. But I feel absolutely nothing. I know the magic is real, I’ve seen it. It poured from me in the woods that night. Yet I can’t summon it even if I try.
We arrive at a stone house with a clay roof. Hol and Felda lead us inside, down the hall, and to a kitchen that takes up the back half of the house. Davien and I are seated around a table as Felda and Hol bustle about their kitchen. I notice pegs by the back door—a messenger bag very similar to Raph’s hangs on one.
“Please don’t punish him…” The soft words slip from my lips unintended as Felda sets down a board with a rustic sourdough loaf and knife.
“What?” She blinks and tilts her head at me.
“Raph. Please don’t punish him when he returns home. I wouldn’t want him to be hurt because of me.”
“Hurt?” She shakes her head and seems aghast at what I am suggesting. Her brows furrow slightly, as though my concern has offended her somehow. “We would never hurt our son.”
“But, in the tavern…you seemed so upset.”
“I was upset.” Felda puts her hands on her hips. “I don’t know how I managed to have the most precocious child in all of Dreamsong, but I guess that is my honor and burden to bear.” She grins as though some part of her really does think it is an honor to be associated with Raph’s antics. “But he’s been appropriately reprimanded already. As long as he doesn’t step out of line again today—which is a challenge sometimes for that boy—there will be no more words on the incident when he gets home.”
“Oh, good…” I stare at the bread that Felda begins to cut. Is it really that simple? I’ve never seen a child be so easily forgiven when they erred. Helen and Laura never made a mistake. And whenever I did, I felt the repercussions for days usually. When I sense the weight of another pair of eyes on me, my gaze is drawn across the table to where Davien sits. He watches me with a slightly furrowed brow, as if he’s inspecting or studying me.
“Please help yourself to our bread and wine,” Hol says ceremoniously as he pours mead into each of our cups.
I welcome the excuse to look away from Davien. His stare is just too probing. I worry about what he would see if I met his eyes for too long. I never expected to miss the blindfold.
“How are you finding Dreamsong?” Felda asks.
I welcome the change in topic with a smile. “It’s a truly magnificent place. The fae are some of the best craftsmen I’ve ever seen.”
“We have a good many who possess old rituals on tradesmanship, long passed down in their families and courts.”
“When you say rituals…is it the same as what I saw in the woods that night?” I look to Davien.
“That was a ritual, yes, but so was what Giles did when we made camp in the Bleeding Forest,” he says.
I chew on a slab of bread for a moment, considering everything I’ve learned about fae and their magic so far. The bread is tangy and has the right amount of chew to complement the crisp crust. “So a ritual can be anything? And accomplish anything?”
“There are some limitations,” Hol says. “For example, we can’t bring back the dead, or change someone’s heart.”
“So as you can see, not many limitations.” Davien smirks.
“How is a ritual made?” I think of what Vena said about finding a way to get the magic from me. Is she going to make a ritual herself?
“There are a few who are in tune enough with their magic and the inherent laws of our world to invent new rituals. But most rituals are passed down orally or in written tomes kept within families and courts,” Hol explains.
“It’s why the nearly complete eradication of the Aviness family crippled the fae and has made us weak for centuries. The glass crown had a ritual performed on it long ago that still stands and demands loyalty from all fae…but it can only be worn by the true heir of Aviness. As long as an Aviness heir is alive, it will heed no other master. And it requires the power of the lost kings to unveil its full potential.” Davien looks out a window with a glare, casting his anger toward someone or something far beyond the table.
“So fae can’t perform magic with their thoughts?” I think about my actions in the woods. How the magic came to me unbidden, heeding only my subconscious need to survive.
“There are some exceptions, like summoning wings or claws,” Hol says. “Or our glamour.”
“But otherwise, no,” Felda adds. “However, there are some rituals that give us varying control over power for a certain length of time—like what’s on the glass crown. What we can do du
ring that time, and how long it lasts, all depends on the ritual.”
“You saw one such example in the woods.” Davien brings his attention back to the present and rests it on me. “The way that Butcher moved is a closely guarded ritual, passed down in their ranks; they cast it on the capes they wear. I’ve heard it’s called ‘shadow stepping,’ where they can move from darkness to darkness. It makes them particularly deadly at night. But the ritual expires quickly. They only have so much movement they can perform in that manner before the charged magic is exhausted.”
I’m beginning to frame fae magic in terms I can understand—that I’m familiar with. I think of when I repaired the plaster on the walls of our manor. The “ritual” would be the act of combining the ingredients and mixing them in a bucket. I suppose the bucket—or vessel for the magic—is the fae performing the ritual, though it sounds like the vessel can also be a thing, like the glass crown or the Butchers’ capes. Then, they can use the plaster—magic—until it runs out or becomes useless—dries.
With this framework, I say with mild confidence, “I think I understand.”
“Really?” Davien arches his eyebrows; he seems impressed. I give him a sly smile.
“I think so. Here, let me see if I have it right…” I explain my analogy to them. “That’s about it?”
Hol leans back in his chair and chuckles. “No wonder we could teach ancient humans. For a people who lost their magic overnight, there’s definitely traces of understanding there.”
If that’s true, I might be able to learn how to use the magic within me. I avoid Davien’s attentive stare by helping myself to another slice of bread, dipping it in the oil and herbs before popping it into my mouth. It’s like he can sense what I’m thinking. I wonder if one night at the manor he bored a hole into my mind with those eyes of his while I was blindfolded and oblivious. Now, he has a window to my innermost thoughts whenever he wants.
I bite my lip. I really hope that I’m wrong about that…because my mind isn’t a place that anyone should spend too much time in. It’s dangerous enough for me, and I live here.